Textual Based Experiences
by whispering willow
Summary: Even from across town, over the phone, Johns words have a powerful command over Sherlock.  This is a Sherlock solo play, heavily guided by John's commands.  Slash, and most definitely PWP.


**Title: **Textual Based Experiences  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>BBC Sherlock  
><strong>Characters: <strong>John/Sherlock  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M, for explicit sexual activities  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Even from across town, over the phone, Johns words have a powerful command over Sherlock.

This is a Sherlock solo play, heavily guided by John's commands.

I don't own Sherlock, these particular incarnations of the Great Detective and his Good Docotor are the brain children of MG and SM.

* * *

><p>Either John had hidden his gun, and had finally found a place Sherlock couldn't find it, or he had taken it with him for some reason. The latter was most likely the case, as the detective had already been sitting around the house for over a week, and as fond as he was of his idiot, he was not ready to admit he had been out-witted by him.<p>

John had feared for the walls.

Properly so of course.

Laying low in his chair, limbs sprawled in every direction, Sherlock decided that John had been at work for far too long.

_10:31 Message Sent_

_Bored. –SH_

He flopped his arm back out across the arm of the chair, phone still in hand. Three minutes. He gave John three minutes exactly, and when he didn't answer, he tried again.

_10:34 Message Sent_

_Very Bored. –SH_

This time, he received an answer almost immediately.

_10:35 Message Received: John Watson_

_I'm at work. Kind of busy._

Sherlock frowned. That wasn't going to work at all. His brain was a mess, absolutely rotting from the inside out. He desperately needed stimulation.

He needed ANY kind of stimulation.

_10:35 Message Sent_

_I could go have another look for your gun._

_10:36 Message Received: John Watson_

_Won't find it. Go work on an experiment._

This earned his phone a vicious scowl. The kitchen was too many steps away, and Sherlock didn't feel like moving.

_10:37 Message Sent_

_Finished the last one this morning. Useless._

Ok that was a lie. It wasn't completely useless. He did learn that sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to turn the thermostat as low as it would go, would only keep the good doctor asleep, warm in his bed, bodies tangled together, for at most half an hour past the time he normally gets ready for work. It had completely failed to keep him there.

Useless.

At least 15 minutes passed while he remembered the warm touch of Johns flesh against his that morning, watching him sleep, willing him to stay there forever.

The half hearted curse John threw over his shoulder when he realized why he was shivering in the middle of July.

The offer Sherlock had made to warm him up, being entirely for selfish reasons, and being thoroughly turned down.

There was the kiss John had given him, despite his frustrations, just before he left for that infuriating _job _of his. His lips were still a bit puffy and he licked them, trying to get any taste of John that may have lingered behind.

_10:55 Message Received: John Watson_

_Can't you think of anything to occupy your time?_

He almost dropped his phone when it vibrated in his hand.

_10:56 Message Sent_

_Several thousand._

_10:58 Message Received: John Watson_

_Minus the illegal ones._

_11:00 Message Sent_

_You are no fun at all, you know that?_

There was no reply for some time. While waiting for an answer, he did his best to dwindle his list down to activities that wouldn't have the pair of them _immediately _thrown behind bars. He also crossed a few things off that would have put Lestrade in a bad position for them. He'd grown far too fond of that man.

_11:08 Message Sent_

_Several dozen._

John's patients were taking up far too much of his valuable attention.

_11:12 Message Received: John Watson_

_And the morally ambiguous._

This earned his phone a delicious smirk. Taking off the illegal and morally ambiguous only left one list. Sherlock knew the precise number of items on that list. It had grown by one or two almost every week since the two had first shared a bed.

_11:13 Message Sent_

_14_

_11:14 Message Received: John Watson_

_…and WHY can't you do one of those?_

Sherlock took his time typing out the next text.

_11:16 Message Sent_

_Every last one of them involves a lot of moaning, sweat, and friction. They also involve my tongue and every inch of your bare flesh._

_11:17 Message Sent_

_One may or may not have an alarming amount to do with my scarf collection._

Either John had gotten swamped, or he had rolled his eyes and threw his phone in the desk. He didn't answer for almost an hour. At one point, while Sherlock was pacing, working on pulling individual hairs out of his head, his phone actually rang.

To his great disappointment, it was only the Detective Inspector. They spent only five minutes talking, Sherlock assuring him that if the bread was moldy, the ring was therefore a fake, and the wife hadn't killed her husband. It didn't do anything for his boredom. He flopped down on the couch, leaving his phone in his lap.

He inhaled sharply when it vibrated.

_12:13 Message Received: John Watson_

_Shut the door Sherlock._

The detective didn't need to be told twice. He could hear John's commanding voice in the back of his head. THAT did everything for his boredom.

_12:14 Message Received: John Watson_

_We're going to add a #15 to that little list of yours, but this one, you don't need my presence for. Take off everything you are wearing, and sit in MY chair._

He did look twice at that message. What on earth was John getting at? Surely he didn't… oh. OH! It dawned on Sherlock what he was about to be told to do.

_12:16 Message Sent_

_John, you know I don't do this. I never have, it doesn't work._

Never the less, he made sure to lock both doors, and stripped, sitting in John's chair as he was instructed.

He always did love following his doctor's orders.

_12:17 Message Received: John Watson_

_It will. We are going to play with your memories, and I want to come home and smell you invading my space; all of you, all the sweat and come that escapes your body at the thought of me._

Sherlock slouched lower in John's chair, leaning his head to the side to try and get a sense of what the chair smelled like then, before he would ruin it, drive John's scent out. When he felt the familiar burn hit the bottom of his stomach as he took a deep breath, he thought this might actually work.

_12:19 Message Received: John Watson_

_Remember this morning, the kiss I gave you before I left? My lips pressed against yours, my tongue invading your mouth, so hungry for more, but not willing to give it._

Sherlock did. He put his fingers against his lips, circling the edges, able to taste John's on them again somehow. Those kisses were like labyrinths. He got lost in them for days, mind dumped of everything but feeling John's hot breath against his face, moaning when he felt possessive teeth nibble at his lips.

_12:21 Message Received: John Watson_

_The first time I bit the bottom of your neck, and thought you were going to come for me right there._

He had. Standing in the middle of the flat, their second kiss, still weeks before they had ventured beyond crazed moments of passionate kissing. He wasn't sure how he had hidden that obvious fact from John, maybe he just hadn't been paying that much attention. Something shot through his body at the memory: the intense over stimulation, how his body had reacted so violently just to John's lips on his, when the doctor had lined wet, firm kisses down his jaw and neck, grazing his teeth across his collar bone. That alone had caused Sherlock to teeter on the edge. Then there were those teeth, pressing firmly, possessively into the flesh at the bottom of his neck. Of course, when John flicked his tongue out in the middle of the bite, and sucked so gingerly against the skin, Sherlock was gone. He'd never felt anything to intense before, never been so out of control of his own body. He had let go.

Fingers shaking, he managed to type something out on his phone.

_12:25 Message Sent_

_John, please. I need you._

He looked down at his aching erection, sliding one hand down his front, letting his fingers dance across his chest and stomach the way John does so expertly.

_12:27 Message Received: John Watson_

_Good. Now wrap those long perfect fingers around your cock. Tease yourself the way I do._

Sherlock had fallen into a low lounge in the chair, phone hand propped up on the arm, thumb on the open button, which was as much as he was able to manage at the moment. His other hand was following orders. He circled the base of his erection with his finger tips, lightly sliding them up the side, around the tip and down the other. It was exactly what John had done; it didn't feel anything like him though. Frustrated, he continued. This time, he wrapped all his fingers around himself, pushing his thumb against the slit, smearing his own pre-come around his head in a slow circle, the firmer he pushed and grabbed, the more he felt closer to John. Un-controllably, he arched his back into his own hand with a sigh.

_12:30 Message Received: John Watson_

_I want you Sherlock_.

The message was loud and clear, John's voice once again in the back of Sherlock's mind, growling at him. Somehow he felt the heat of John's absent body hovering over him, breathing against his neck, making low, greedy moans into each kiss he trailed down his body. His skin reacted as if John was there, twitching at each idea of where he could kiss and bite and suck next.

_12:32 Message Received: John Watson_

_I want to swirl my tongue around you, and take you in my mouth. I want to suck and hum and make you buck into me, my lips at the base of your perfect cock._

Fuck. He was going to come, and come soon. He had barely moved his hand up and down his length a couple of times, but the memories John was dancing in front of him, around him, across him, through his entire body, were going to push him over. At this point, he was only still touching himself because it seemed like the logical thing to do, certain that he would climax without a single touch at this point.

_12:33 Message Received: John Watson_

_Not yet Sherlock._

He was not entirely sure of how he was still reading the messages John was sending, or how he was going to hold back any longer. His entire being was tense, throbbing with need for release. Willing his body to do as it was told was easier said than done when he was this far gone.

_12:34 Message Received: John Watson_

_One more memory. Just one more. Remember how it feels, while I have you in my mouth, pushing against my throat. Think of me pushing inside you: just… one… finger…_

_12:35 Message Received: John Watson_

_…moving in and out of you, pushing against your insides until you groan and come in my mouth. Come Sherlock. Come now, for me._

Before he had read the last word, Sherlock dropped the phone, it landing down between the cushions, his entire body giving away. His body did buck, his hips raised, supporting himself with only his head, one arm, fingers digging into the side of John's chair, and his feet planted firmly on the ground, toes curled so tightly he thought they might break. One last memory, one last memory of a first time, the first time he was intruded upon. The first time anyone had been inside Sherlock, physically, mentally, and worst of all, emotionally. A mixture of pain, and immense pleasure washed over him and he came, spilling all over his stomach and chest, groaning at the loss of ability to think of anything but wishing it had been John. It felt good, it felt amazing.

It wasn't John.

While trying to catch his breath his hip vibrated. Hands still shaking, he managed to pull the phone free, and once his eye sight came back into focus, read the last message.

_12:38 Message Received: John Watson_

_Don't you dare move from that spot Sherlock Holmes. I am almost home, and I want to lick every last damn drop off of you._


End file.
